For most of my life, I knew how to survive. I learned early how to read a room, keep people happy, carry what needed to be carried, and hide the parts of myself I believed were too broken for anyone else to see. Childhood trauma left wounds I didn't have words for, and shame convinced me those wounds said something about who I was. I spent years searching for acceptance, belonging, identity, and relief in relationships, accomplishments, control, perfectionism, and eventually things that helped me escape what I didn't know how to face.

God was woven throughout my story long before I truly surrendered my life to Him. I went to church. I served. I taught. I knew Bible stories. I even worked in ministry, but knowing things about God and actually knowing Him are two very different things.

Motherhood changed everything for me. After years of infertility, I became pregnant with my first daughter, Keana. She was born with a congenital muscular dystrophy that affected her body but never diminished the extraordinary person God created her to be. Loving her, caring for her, and fighting for her eventually led me into special education, disability advocacy, and special needs ministry. Somewhere along the way, though, being her mother, advocate, protector, and caregiver also became part of my identity. I became very good at being the person everyone needed.

Then life began stripping away the things I thought made me secure. My first marriage ended December 13, 2012, and on April 14, 2013, after months of attending church again, I finally came face down before God. I had spent years questioning whether He heard me, whether He could really be trusted, and whether He was who He said He was. That morning my surrender wasn't polished or particularly theological. It was desperate, but it was real, and God met me there.

Then came a loss I could never have prepared myself for.

On December 13, 2014, Keana passed at eleven years old following complications from surgery. Hours before everything changed, she woke me in the middle of the night and told me she wanted to "talk to the people in the light." I didn't understand what she meant then. The next morning, when her heart stopped and the medical team could no longer save her, I faced a choice no mother should ever have to make. I had to release the daughter I had spent her entire life protecting into the hands of the God I was still learning to trust.

I believe Keana received her miracle. It simply wasn't the miracle I wanted on this side of eternity.

Life continued, even when there were days I didn't know how it possibly could. God gave me Mackenzie and later Nate, who was born with Down Syndrome and a significant congenital heart defect. At five months old, Nate became critically ill following open-heart surgery. Standing beside another child's hospital bed, knowing I could lose another child, I realized something in my faith had changed. My prayer was no longer simply asking God to give me the outcome I desperately wanted. I remember saying, "Lord, let our will align with Yours."

Nate is thriving, and today I get to be his mom, but there were still places in me I had never fully surrendered.

For years I poured myself into advocacy, special needs ministry, caregiving, serving, teaching, and helping everyone around me. I could organize, advocate, fix, protect, carry, and keep going long after I was exhausted. I could even take the painful things that happened to me and turn them into purpose. From the outside, that looked a lot like faithfulness. Some of it absolutely was, but God eventually showed me that some of it was also striving. I was still trying to make sense of my pain on my own.

God didn't just want my service. He wanted me.

In October 2024, during a retreat, the Lord began confronting places in me that I had kept protected even from Him. I felt Him ask me a simple question: "Are you ready?" Then came the question that exposed something I had buried for almost a decade: "Do you trust Me with your children?"

For the first time, I stopped giving God the answer I thought a faithful Christian was supposed to give and told Him the truth.

No. I didn't.

I was angry that Keana's miracle had not happened here. I was afraid that fully surrendering Mackenzie and Nathaniel meant God might ask me to endure that kind of loss again. Underneath years of ministry, service, prayer, and faithfulness was still a mother terrified of what surrender might cost her.

And God already knew.

He wasn't shocked by my anger or afraid of my questions. He wasn't waiting for me to finally say the right Christian words. He was waiting for me to stop hiding and bring Him the truth.

What followed has been one of the most transformative seasons of my life. The Lord began walking me through surrender, repentance, healing, freedom, and a deeper relationship with Him than I knew was possible. He began exposing lies I had believed about myself and showing me how much of my life had been shaped by fear, shame, people pleasing, control, striving, and the need to prove that I was okay.

Somewhere in that process, I finally understood something that changed the way I live and the way I serve: I don't have to manufacture purpose from my pain. God already knows how to redeem it.

Today, I don't believe my calling is to fix people. I know what it feels like to sit in darkness, and I also know what it feels like for Christ to meet you there. That is the heart behind Limitless Ability and my work in Christian Mental Health Coaching and Mentoring.

My education and professional training matter deeply to me, and I believe we are called to steward knowledge, wisdom, and practical tools well. But this work is also deeply personal. I understand grief, trauma, recovery, caregiving, disability, shame, loss, rebuilding, and the complete exhaustion that comes from believing you have to carry everything yourself.

I don't sit across from someone believing I have all the answers. I sit beside them believing Jesus does.

My role isn't to rescue anyone or promise that I can heal what hurts. It is to create a safe place where someone can tell the truth, ask hard questions, identify what may be keeping them stuck, develop practical tools for moving forward, and be continually pointed toward the One who has done in my life what I could never manufacture for myself.

My story is still being written. I'm still being discipled, refined, challenged, and transformed. I don't have everything figured out, and I don't want to pretend that I do. The difference today is that I no longer need to hide the chapters I once believed disqualified me.

God has shown me that He wastes nothing. Not the wounds, the wilderness, the grief, the failures, or even the years I spent running, striving, controlling, and trying to heal myself. What I once carried as shame has become part of my testimony, and what I once believed made me broken has become a place where I have witnessed the redeeming power of Jesus Christ.

If God can meet me in those places, I believe there is hope for your story too.

Limitless Ability. Limitless Purpose. Limitless Hope.